Fragmentation IV
by Sakura123
Summary: [AU]: TRON: Legacy/2.0 (Subroutine Universe). Five Times Someone Told Jet Bradley they loved him, and the One Time he didn't think it was just sentiment. Following Jet from October 1988 to November 2009. COMPLETE.
1. Kevin Flynn: October 31, 1988

**Fragmentation IV**

* * *

 **Title:** Fragmentation IV

 **Genre:** Family/Drama

 **Summary:** Five Times Someone Told Jet Bradley they loved him, and the One Time he didn't think it was just sentiment. [Canon. Subroutine universe. Timeline compliant.]

 **Author:** Sakura123 (weber_dubois22, Knightqueen)

 **Rating:** T

 **Characters:** Jet Bradley, Lora Bradley, Alan Bradley, Sam Flynn, Kevin Flynn, Eva Popoff, Seth Crown III, Esmond Baza, Edward Dillinger Jr.

 **Chapters:** 6

 **Written:** 9/ 21/ 2018

 **Completed:** 11/3/2018

 **Disclaimer:** _Tron/Tron 2.0/Tron: Legacy_ and all things related are property of Steven Lisberger, Bonnie MacBird and Walt Disney Studios (and some other guys I'm probably forgetting but don't care to remember).

 **Author's Note:** Check out subroutine-fic on tumblr for updates, headcanons, and graphical edits that relate to this series for the mainline story.

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 **1\. Kevin Flynn – October 31, 1988**

* * *

Halloween was not Kevin's favorite day of the month. By design, the ceremony of dressing up the house and the arcade in faux webs and everything that represented the hallowed day was an exhausting ordeal he no longer reaped any joy from since Jordan died. In general, he was never that big of a fan of Halloween to begin with. One particularly bad experience bobbing for apples set him off the holiday for life.

But, now there was the kids to think about. Jet and Sam were finally at an age where Halloween actually registered as something important to them as individuals, not just something their parents inundated them with on the basis of "tradition".

Sam and Jet spent the better part of two weeks going back and forth from each other's houses, bouncing ideas off him, off Alan, off Lora, all to come up with the perfect costume.

Sam fell asleep often on the couch after finishing homework, doodles in crayon and faded pencil on notebook paper. From what Kevin could tell from the misshapen figures meant to represent his son and godson is that they wanted to be pirates one week, astronauts the next, then Dr. Quest and Race Bannon. Jet was Dr. Quest because he had glasses. Sam was Race Bannon because he was cooler than Dr. Quest.

Kevin figured the first and latter would be the easier to cheese. Turtlenecks and dress shirts were a dime-a-dozen. None of them, not even Lora, were aces with sewing machines. But, just as he and Alan got into their heads that sewing and stitching together a costume would be required of them - because that's what their mothers did for them - Lora reassured them, "People buy their costumes, guys, I don't think you need to worry about making them for the boys."

The _Jonny Quest_ costume idea fell through. Sam was now utterly convinced that the two of them were going to be pirates, and Jet thought as much. Sam dragged Kevin to their not-so-local Jo Anne's Party City to buy his accessories for the big night of house-to-house trick or treating. Kevin got him a big hat with a giant feather to go with the cheaply made Captain Hook jacket that matched his worn brown backpack.

Alan and Lora, who usually accompanied Jet on Halloween, opted for a couple's night that year. The most Kevin saw of them that night was Lora's station wagon pulling away from his house as Jet shuffled up across his tiny yard.

Jet arrived at his doorstep, not as Captain Bluebeard, but in a worn out bunny costume adorned with long ears, welder's goggles atop his head, and a red down vest. "Mom burnt my costume with the iron," He said, his expression dour. The only thing that remained of his Captain Bluebeard (the second mate) costume was the eyepatch that sat on his forehead under the hood.

Sam was devastated. Kevin tried to be a bit more positive about the situation. "Lora always was a creative one, Jet."

"That's not even funny, Uncle Flynn. I spent my allowance on that costume."

The trip through their neighborhood wasn't exactly a tumultuous one, but Kevin could tell from the slump in Sam's shoulders that he wasn't quite got over that their costume ensemble was broke. Jet walked beside him, occasionally falling back whenever he thought he saw someone he knew from school. Most people were too preoccupied with counting their candy to really make fun of him. If anything, Kevin thought he looked unique.

"So, why a rabbit?" He asked as Jet and Sam ran down from the elderly couple's yellow porch.

"Huh?" Jet struggled to keep his eyepatch from sliding down his face away from his left eye. Kevin freed his hands from the responsibility of carrying his blue backpack and repeated, "So, why a rabbit? Why not a superhero?" Jet fell into step with Kevin and Sam as he adjusted the strap of his eyepatch around his head.

"Or, a pirate, like we planned," Sam interjected, frowning.

"I told you, Mom burned my costume with the iron," Jet reiterated. "And it wasn't my idea to wear it."

"But, you're wearing it, so, it can't be all bad," Kevin observed.

"It looks stupid," Sam offered.

Jet just shrugged. "I guess. Dad got this out of the attic, said it was an old Halloween costume of his," Jet explained.

"Is that right?" Kevin laughed.

"Yeah. He said it was a costume for some show he used to watch. Clarence the Rabbit."

Kevin vaguely remembered the name, but couldn't recall any images that weren't Jet looking absolutely silly (but unique) in a rabbit costume.

"The goggles and the vest were my idea," Jet supplied proudly. "I think the eyepatch looks cooler, though."

"That's what I love about you Jet," Kevin ruffled his hair – or at least tried to – causing the rabbit themed hoodie to fall over his eyes. "You're always on the lookout for what's cool." Were it not for the sour expression Jet managed to communicate with only a scrunched up nose and the thinning of his lips, Kevin would've assumed he appreciated the playful affection. He usually did.

Most houses were decorated in faux webs and skeletons, but Kevin steered them away from houses that were plain, assuming the residents didn't want to be bothered. Jet's story of costume dilemmas stopped and resumed in between pit-stops at the doors catering to children. It was a disjointed conversation, but Kevin was used to it by now – still somewhat able to recollect his own inability to keep his attention focused on any one thing when something else caught his eye as a kid.

Six blocks from his house, Sam and Jet finally slowed down, seemingly content with the amount of candy they were lugging around in their backpacks. Kevin found himself wishing he brought his car with him, at least then he could use the car phone to call Alan to come pick Jet up from his house.

* * *

 **FIN.**


	2. Lora Bradley: December 23, 1989

**2\. Lora Bradley – December 23, 1989**

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Take's place directly after Chapter Five, "Who Am I to Disagree?" in _Subroutine_.

* * *

Jet was still in his bedroom when Lora came to visit him. Curled up on his bed, he was reading a book aided by the light of his "Spider-Man" themed flashlight and table lamp to this left. She couldn't get a good look at the underside of the book.

The most she could make out were streaks of red and blue, but not much else. Hesitant, Lora tapped gently on the open door. The heavy huff of air that followed told her nothing about his mood had changed since that afternoon. Jet did her the respect of looking up from his book when he asked, "What?"

"I just wanted to check in on you, before I went to bed," She said, entering the room. Jet fiddled with the switch on his flashlight, his eyes were downcast when his mother sat down on the edge of his bed. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, sure," Short and to the point. Lora reached out and gripped her son's wrist, she didn't so much as flinch when he reactively pulled away from her and stuffed his hand under the covers. "Jethro," She said.

Finally, he looked up at her again, frustration clear in his expression. "Do I have to go to summer camp?"

Ah, there it was. "Yes," She said. "You don't want to stay here, do you?"

"No, I wanna go home with you," Jet said.

"You can't, not right now," Lora said. "But, I promise it won't be like this for much longer."

"But, how long is that?" He whined. "You never tell me how long I have to be here."

"Jet, that's because I don't know when exactly I'll be done with my work. We were almost finished with our project, that much I can tell you," Lora said. "Besides, this is your home too."

"This is dad's home," Jet corrected her, sullen.

"Jethro," She warned.

"It's true! Most of my stuff is at your house," Jet persisted. "I miss my old bed."

"Jet, this house and the one in Washington belong to both me and Alan." Jet's nose scrunched up at the casual drop of his father's name. "Your father isn't just babysitting you."

"No, duh. He doesn't watch me at all," Jet mumbled. "All he does is work." Lora thought about giving him the usual explanation – that his father was a busy man, and with Flynn gone, his workload was doubled now. But, that wasn't fair him, it wasn't fair to any of them. It certainly wouldn't put him in a better mood.

"You guys forgot my birthday," He added. Lora opened her mouth to respond then closed it again. Jet's eyebrows were drawn together. His cheeks were slightly rosy as he looked up at her – eyes glassy with un-shed tears.

"Jet, you have to know we didn't mean to," Lora said. "We were –"

"Busy, I know," He sniffed, rubbing his face angrily when tears rolled down his face. "I turned seven, and nobody told me happy birthday. I just sat in that stupid office and then we went home." He stopped himself from saying more, not completely trusting his mother to understand him.

She cupped his face gingerly, accustomed to the resistance the affection usually stirred in her son. He twisted his head away from her and leaned against the headboard. For once she didn't go after him, her fingers pressed against the bed, steadying her.

"Jethro, you know both your father and I love you, don't you?" Jet's shoulders hunched as started to play with his flashlight. "Hey," Her hand touched his, halting the switch of the flashlight momentarily. Jet raised his blue eyes to meet his mother's. "I mean it, Jethro. We love you very much, and we're going to fix this. We're going to make this right. You just have to give us the chance."

Jet nodded stiffly. He wanted so badly to believe his mother. The contrary, at least where his father was concerned, gnawed at his heart, twisting the shards. He stopped short of saying what he really felt about his father to his mother. Mom was a lot of things, but doubtful of his father's intentions was never one of them. Easily as the belief that his father stopped caring about him came, it would never hold under the scrutiny of his mother's faith. So he just nodded regardless. She'd have him believing the opposite too.

Lora wrapped her arms around her son's body and squeezed. Jet laid his chin on her shoulder and allowed himself to be rocked. "Summer camp won't be so bad. You'll make a lot new friends, and you still have time to be with us in the meantime. Everything will turn out fine, you'll see."

* * *

 **FIN.**


	3. Alan Bradley: October 11, 1994

**3\. Alan Bradley - October 11, 1994**

* * *

 **Author's Note:** This is best read while listening to an Airport Ambience video on YouTube by a user named Ambiance Hub.

* * *

It took a special dedication to get the screws of a metal chair, wound tight, to squeak and strain. It was a testament to Jet's restlessness that Alan could hear the screws whining against the metal chair over the sound of a busy airport.

Closing the wrinkled issue of _Entertainment Weekly_ , Alan reached over and tugged the felt collar of his old bomber jacket, which dwarfed his son. Jet stopped bouncing in the seat long enough to twist around to catch his father's hand in mid-retreat. Or at least tried to. His hand barely sticking out of the sleeve of his father's jacket, his fingers were only able to grab the edge of Alan's palm.

His balance lost, Jet fell sideways across the connected chairs, the hoodie of his sweatshirt falling back to reveal a considerably sour expression. "Sit still," Alan scolded. There was an undignified huff from his son.

"I'm bored, can't we go home?"

"Jet, by the time we get home, we could've picked your mother up three times."

"Can we get something to eat?"

"In a little bit."

"You said that two hours ago."

"Jet, we've only been here an hour."

"Doesn't feel like it."

Jet righted himself in the chair, sitting with his legs under him and arm draped over the back of the chair. They'd been sitting in the wings for eternity. Dad woke him up early, practically carried him out of the bed, and told him to get ready to pick up Mom. Mom, who was coming back from Washington so she could finish settling in a new house in Pasadena, not Los Angeles. Jet didn't want to be up right now, he stayed up later than usual – just to prove he could – and barely felt he closed his eyes before Dad came walking in to tell him to get up.

He argued that Mom would be fine if he didn't come to the airport to see her, but Dad simply reminded him of the pinky swear made to Lora before she left late last year. "You promised you would be there with me, Jethro," He said.

"It's Jet," The reminder came out angrier than usual, but did little to sway Dad from his position. Jet slept in the car, but again, it was like time was working against him. One moment he was staring at the sun creeping across the buildings, the next he was listening to his father shaking him awake. "Next time, you'll go to bed when I tell you," Dad scolded him.

He tried to keep up with Dad as he hurried through the busy airport. People, lights, and sounds blurred together until he couldn't tell his up from his down. Jet was doing more leaning than walking before long. He didn't remember much between his father stopping and winding up above the ground. Just the weird dream about coffee and soft pretzels arguing about Pepsi vs. Coke, only somewhat interrupted by the sudden decent from the mountain.

When he opened his eyes, he was lying on his side across the empty chairs, his father's jacket draped over him. The noise of the airport wasn't as jarring, but he had a crick in his neck and eyes felt like raisins.

For Alan, it was hard keeping his temper in check with Jet when he started lagging behind. He'd been ridiculously difficult the night before Lora's arrival, mostly because he'd been denied arcade and Nintendo privileges after getting another C-minus on his math test.

He wasn't looking forward to telling Lora that Jet was slacking off again, but he didn't exactly want to explain his son's absence either. There was no babysitter willing (or allowed) to stay over or up beyond school curfew. They certainly couldn't afford a nanny, and Lora had been clear about his not leaving Jet alone for extended periods of time. Since he "stepped down" from the position of Chairman of ENCOM in 1990, that request was easier to achieve more often than not.

Jet had been ecstatic to see Lora again, but as usual he let his poor attitude get the better of him and now he was walking zombie Alan had to carry to the terminal. He wasn't as small as he used to be. At eleven years old, Jet was still fairly kid-sized, but the difference in weight from seven to eleven was pretty plain the moment Jethro went lax against him. The choice to carry him to the terminal had been a necessity, but one his back was beginning to regret.

In the corner of his eye he saw Jet pull his arm from over the chair. Alan watched as his son turned toward him and leaned forward. He raised his arms slightly above his head. Jet laid across his father's lap in such way that his left side dangled without security and his head rest on the empty seat on Alan's left.

The only way Alan knew Jet was secured where was he was the arm around his waist, and the hand clutching his shirt. Alan lowered his arms, and continued to read the same paragraph over and over again. God, where was Lora? "Have you talked to Sam, lately?"

"No," Jet said, "I've been hanging out with Annie."

Alan raised an eyebrow. The image of two girls appeared in his mind's eye. Brunette and preppy, redheaded and down-to-earth. "Which Annie?" He asked. "Next door Annie, or Annie at school?"

"Stetson, Annie Stetson," Jet answered after a moment. "You guys really call her "next door Annie"?"

"Well, you know so many Annie's, it's hard to keep track of them," Alan joked, earning him a half-hearted punch in the stomach. "Ouch."

"That didn't hurt. And, I only know two Annie's," Jet mumbled. "And Annie Braddock's been helping me out with my English."

"Not your math?"

"No, why would she?"

"Because it's the subject you're failing?"

Jet shrugged. "She's not great with math either. Besides, it was just a test. I'll do better next time."

You had better, Alan thought. "So, why haven't you spoken to Sam?"

"Because, we don't hang out like that anymore? Just a guess," Jet couldn't help the sarcasm that filtered through his response.

"I thought you guys apologized for that big fight?"

"We did! But –" Jet bit the inside of his mouth, "–You just can't be friends like that anymore, it's not the same. And, I might've told him that I thought Uncle Flynn was dead –"

"Jet!" His father's voice, while weary, was sharp enough that he sat up and scooted away from him.

"He asked me if I thought he was really gone. Was I supposed to lie?"

"In this case, that might've been the better option, Jet."

Jet made a face, Alan knew he was reconsidering the constant "thou shall not lie" lessons that his parents drilled into his head. "So you think he's dead?" Jet asked.

"No, I think Flynn is alive. He just hasn't come back."

"Well, I think he's dead. He's a jerk, otherwise," Jet said. "I know enough jerks."

There was a moment where he met his son's gaze – just before Jet focused his attention on veins of his palm – and wondered if he was talking about him. But, Jet wasn't without a point. In '89, Kevin's absence that was becoming a harder and harder to defend to the members of the board as sabbatical, or even a missing person's case. By 1990, his friend had worn away whatever sympathy that might've accumulated, and the world was slowly forgetting he ever existed as one personal crisis followed after the other. The board was now trying to convince his ten year old son's guardians, the elder Flynn's, to declare him dead _in absentia_ , but Sam didn't want that.

It was excusable when people thought something terrible happened to him, but the prevailing thought soon became that Flynn had simply abandoned the world and went some off someplace, probably to die. Neither Alan nor Lora believed it. Even with how badly he missed Jordan, the one thing that kept him moving was his son and his parents. "I can't leave them. I'd never leave them – at least, not like that. I hope."

They lapsed into an awkward silence. Alan pretending to read the magazine, Jet looking everywhere except in his father's direction.

"I'm bored," Jet sighed, shifting the conversation away from the Flynns. "Can I walk around?"

"You can walk around, but you can't go any further than the window," Alan said without looking up from Meryl Streep interview.

"Why not?"

"Because, you'll get lost."

"No, I won't. My sense of direction is way better than yours," His son argued.

"Jet, I love you, but, you don't even know your way around ENCOM."

"Like, I'm supposed to?" Jet pointed to the right and for whatever reason, Alan actually looked up to see what he was pointing at. A rapidly crowding pathway of bodies coming and going from terminals or nearby shops. "Look, I'm only going down there and I'll come right back."

"Jet, this is an airport, I don't want you anywhere without me or your mother," Alan said. "It's not safe."

"Who's gonna kidnap me? It's not like I'm worth anything."

"I'll pretend you didn't say that," Alan frowned.

"But, Pops –"

"No further than the window. End of discussion," Alan cut him off. Jet slouched back in the chair for a moment then stood up. Alan watched him with suspicion. He didn't expect Jet to run off, but he also didn't put it past his son not to antagonize him for the sake of pushing boundaries. Closing the magazine again, Alan checked his watch. It was 9:11AM, Lora wouldn't arrive for another half hour give or take (without delays).

Most of their time was spent getting to the airport, filing through traffic – the commute to work, the commute to the airport – and the rest was navigating the same-y open space of reflective surfaces and overhead chatter that made him question his hearing. Jet situated himself sit in front of the window overlooking the exterior of the airport, dwarfed by the enormity of the world before him. Bored with the magazine, Alan set it aside and got up. Jet was too preoccupied with whatever was going on outside to pay any attention to Alan approaching him.

"See something you like?" He asked.

"There's a plane docking," Jet answered, pointing at the slow going machine parking in front of the extended tunnel pathway adjacent to the window. "When is Mom supposed to come in?"

"Ten o'clock give or take," Alan replied.

There was a weary sigh from his son. "And I couldn't have stayed home?"

"Jethro – can we not fight?" Jet glanced up at his father with a quizzical brow. "We're not fighting, we're talking. At least, I was." Not my fault you always wanna fight, Jet thought bitterly to himself.

"That's how it always starts. Sooner or later, we always end up bickering about something."

"Hmmm," Jet grunted. "When Mom gets here, can I go to sleep?"

"You can sleep as long as you like when we get in the car," Alan reassured.

"May I have your attention, please? Southwest Airlines would like to announce, Flight 1732 is now disembarking at Gate 7-C."

"Is that her?"

"No, but her flight does arrive here at this terminal."

"Can we get something to eat now?" Jet asked, turning his back to the window.

Alan shrugged. "Sure, but can't go too far. I don't want to miss your mom."

"Finally!" Jet grabbed his father by hand and started dragging him toward the busy path. "I think I saw a McDonald's."

"Hang on, Jet, I have to get my jacket,"

"No one's gonna steal it," Jet argued, but stopped pulling on him. "It's old and smelly."

"Yes, I'm sure that's what everyone considers when stealing things left unattended," Alan approached the row of chairs and grabbed his jacket off the seat. Jet was bouncing on his heels as his father pulled his jacket on slowly, (on purpose, Jet thought). Joining Jet on the path, Alan let himself be led through the crowd by his son, who was probably more relieved not to watch him pretend to read a gossip magazine than he was trying not to read it.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** The _Entertainment Weekly_ magazine in question is the October 7, 1994 issue (featuring Meryl Streep promoting _The River Wild_ ).


	4. Annie Braddock: July 18, 1999

**4\. Annie Braddock – July 18, 1999**

* * *

"What do you know about Woodstock?" Sam glanced up from his sandwich to regard Annie Braddock. She sat sideways at his and Jet's corner booth of the mall cafeteria, one arm resting the table with other resting on her left knee.

Jet stopped fishing around in his box of crackerjacks long enough to ponder the question, then shrugged. "It was an old thing my Mom probably went to, but Pops was too stuffy to think about. Why?" He asked, raising his voice above the sudden commotion of the crowd. "What is going on?"

Sam twisted around in his seat at the same time Jet barely cast a glance over his shoulder. Three grown men were shouting about something in front of the Wendy's vendor, looking none too pleased. "Nothing unusual," Sam turned 'round in his seat and refocused his attention his sandwich. Jet followed suit.

A sly sort of smile graced Annie's chapped lips as she said, "Well, I was wondering if you were interested in going to Woodstock '99 with me."

"Woodstock '99?" Jet repeated the name incredulously. "You're saying that like I should know what it is."

"How could you not know what it is? It's like, the one thing everyone's been talking about," Annie said, affronted. "It's the biggest music event of this year."

Jet spared Sam a glance, searching for verification. Sam nodded with a pitying expression. "It's a pretty big deal."

"I was busy trying not to flunk Algebra. Excuse me for tuning the real world out," Jet snarked.

"Anyway, the point is, I might know someone who knows someone who has tickets for Woodstock '99."

Jet looked thoughtful, a laugh slipped from Sam earning him a glare from Annie.

"What? He said. "You're kidding yourself if you think that's a legit offer. He's probably a scalper."

"Sam's got a point," Jet crunched on his caramel peanut popcorn as obnoxiously as he could as two nosy girls passed the table. They shot him a dirty look then moved a bit faster down the path of tables to wherever they were going. "And, there's like, two or three days before the event actually starts? You're absolutely certain this guy is on the level?"

" _Alicia_ has never lied to me about this kind of stuff before," Annie stated, stressing her friend's name. Lowering her voice, she gestured that they move in closer. Jet and Sam obliged her, Jet crushing his box against his chest, Sam leaning away from his sandwich. "Her brother got a security gig, and someone he knows decided not to go. There are, I think, three tickets. She's totally all about helping me out."

"Where's this taking place?"

"Rome, New York. Basically on the East Coast," Annie said. Both boys leaned back, their faces expressing mutual disagreement. There was no way in hell they were leaving the West Coast just for a concert.

"Can't we watch this on pay-per-view? Or MTV?" Jet asked.

"I mean, I guess, but, we'd be going on a road trip! Think about it, you and me –"

"And, me," Sam added, raising an eyebrow at her exclusion.

" –Going across the country to see Sevendust – _Sevendust_ , Jet," Annie emphasized. "It'll be worth the trip."

"Pops isn't gonna let me take the car," Jet said. "And driving all the way to the East Coast? I can't afford that, neither can you, Annie."

"Well, can't Sam help out? I mean, he's a billionaire."

"I'm also sixteen years old, as of June," Sam glared. "I can't even touch that money until I'm, like, eighteen or something."

"Fine. Alicia tells me that her brother is taking his van to New York. Maybe we can bum a ride with them. Our parents don't even have to know."

"I think they'll definitely notice three teenagers missing from the house. Our silence is unbecoming and my dad can't go a day without fighting with me."

"So, why not move in with your mom?" Sam asked.

Jet shook his head. "Not a chance."

"Mom still not budging on that?" Annie winced sympathetically.

"Well, not to derail your heartfelt argument for the Woodstock of our generation, but, no," Jet frowned. "Mom figures if I can patch things up between myself Sam, I can try a little harder with Dad. So, if you were hoping to use Pasadena as a cover, sorry to tell you, that would tip Pops right off. Also, Mom goes everywhere in her station wagon."

Annie covered her face with her hands and let out a low groan. "This blows, I wanna go so badly."

"Hey, it doesn't sound like you'll have a hard time ducking your family, unlike me and Sam. You should absolutely go if you want, Annie."

"It you won't be the same without there. That's why I told you about the tickets," Annie pouted. "We totally deserve a summer break away from home."

Jet reached over and grasped her hand. Sam went back to eating his sandwich – now lukewarm – trying not to roll his eyes at routine he thought Annie was pulling on his friend. "I'll tell you what. It's not a live performance, it's not even a road trip, but I'll pay for the pay-per-view. My TV's bigger than yours and we've got DirectTV. We can make a whole day of it."

"Yeah?"

"Totally. We can thrash in the living room for authenticity's sake," Jet grinned. Sam bit the inside of his mouth at the moonstruck expression slowly spreading across Annie's face as her fingers intertwined with Jet's. "Have I told you how much I love you, Jethro Eugene Bradley?"

Sam raised an eyebrow, Jet's grin turned into a full blown smile. "It's Jet, Annie. And, yeah, but you're only saying that because I'm your boyfriend."

"Doesn't make it not true," She said.

Sam pretended to make choking noises as he stuffed the last of his sandwich into his mouth.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Historically, there hasn't been a girl Jet has dated that Sam didn't dislike for one reason or another (even if they weren't terrible), and Jet's girlfriends never liked him a great deal either.

Annie Braddock is the name of the character in the 2007 comedy, _The Nanny Diaries_ , starring Scarlett Johansson and Chris Evans. The novel the film is based on is a pretty solid weekend read that ends too abruptly and thus the film provides better closure.

Also, it's so weird, reading up on Woodstock '99, and finding out what a nightmare dumpster fire it turned out to be despite some great acts that attended? I only vaguely remember the MTV advertisements and radio hype.


	5. Sam Flynn: September 15, 2001

**6\. Sam Flynn – September 15, 2001**

* * *

Having the wind knocked of you at four in the morning wasn't the most pleasant experience in the world, especially when that bag of bones happens to be your irrelevant freshman bestie with a poor sense of time.

Yet, Jet figured it was something he could endure far easier than the phrase, "I leaving town, you wanna see me off?"

At least, that was the theory.

Truth to be told, Jet didn't process the words. He just sat up, put on some clothes, and followed Sam out through the window of his first floor dorm. Pulling the hood of his sweatshirt over his head, Jet adjusted his glasses and followed Sam through the dimly lit yard of the dormitory out to the parking lot.

A fair ways from the university was when Jet's brain deigned it was time wake up and assess his surroundings. This was not his bed, and he was on a moving vehicle of only two wheels and a loud engine. Sam was clutching the front of his jacket with one hand and balancing the motorcycle with the other.

His own grip around Sam's waist was incredibly lax and his cheek was pressed against his shoulder blade. He was positioned to fall off the saddle and onto the road speeding past them. Straightening himself out, Jet re-centered his body and reasserted his grip around Sam's waist.

Sam's helmeted gaze turned in his direction, but only slightly. He tugged Jet's jacket, Jet hugged Sam just a little tighter in response – he certainly wasn't going try shouting over the wind. Looking around, Jet realized they were well into the city now, the university a memory behind them.

The Ducati slowed down, veering out of traffic toward a semi-empty Dominos parking lot. Jet blinked owlishly against the dryness of his eyes, the motorcycle stopped and Jet hopped off. Sam's helmet came off and the laugh that followed was more than a little annoying. "I knew you weren't awake," Sam grinned.

"When did I say I was?"

"When I woke you up," Sam said. "You climbed out the window and everything."

"Where are we going?" Jet grouched, pushing his glasses back up his nose.

"You realize you were about to fall off, right?"

"I can think of worse ways to go," Jet stretched arms over arms over his head.

Not rising to the bait, Sam said, "I'm leaving town, you're seeing me off. Remember now?"

The resigned sigh from his friend said more than enough so, he started the motorcycle again. "C'mon, I wanna get outta here before the traffic gets too bad."

"And you need me to come with you, because? You realize I don't have a car and I'll be walking back once you're gone?"

"Just call Alan, he'll pick you up," Sam smiled. "It's not my fault you like to nomad your way around the city."

Jet rolled his eyes, but got on the motorcycle anyway. "Don't fall asleep, man," Sam said.

"Shut up, and go, dweeb."

Donning his helmet, Sam pulled out of the parking lot and back into the ever-growing flow of traffic.

* * *

Jet fell asleep twice. The second time he actually did almost fall off of motorcycle, which forced Sam to pull over again, this time at the nearest Checkers he could find. The modest faux diner designed fast food joint was quiet, unoccupied by all others save the early shift employees, most of whom were more awake than his friend.

Jet sat on the right side of the booth, head leaning up against the red cushioned seat. Sam walked back to the booth with two cups of coffee in hand. He sat the steaming cup in front of Jet, who was slow to react to the smell. Sitting on his side of the table, Sam sipped gingerly at the stark drink.

Coffee was never his favorite drink, he never quite understood why it was so revered – but if Jet's dazed and confused act was anything to do by, the world was working off an induced state of dependency that clouded their better judgement regarding the beverage. Jet bowed his head over the cup of coffee, inhaling the dry and sodium-esque smell let off by the steam. Between the two an oily bag of fries sat on a platter, on either side of the bag were double folded napkins with their own little pile of fried potatoes on them.

"You couldn't have waited until this afternoon to leave California?"

"You'd be in class, so, no, not really," Sam answered between chewing his single French fry.

"You sure this is what you wanna do?" Jet asked.

"As sure as there are French fries in front of me, yeah," Sam flashed his friend a grin.

"I know things have been tough since Deana passed, but –" He shrugged. "We're here for you, man."

"I just don't wanna be here. I figure you of all people understand that, right?"

Jet responded by downing a gulp of hot coffee. It went down as well as expected. Dumbass, Sam thought with a pitying shake of the head. Jet stuffing salty potatoes into his mouth to assuage his burning tongue and throat was amusing at least.

"So, you're gonna miss me?" There was a cough from Jet, followed by a shrug and a modest salute with his right hand. 'I don't know', was what he just signed to him. "Well, honestly, I'd miss me, because who else would you talk to?"

"For your information –" Jet's voice was haggard and stuffy, "I have friends besides you. Kind of a necessity where am." Jet wasn't necessarily affronted by the implication that he had no friends besides Sam, but he wasn't amused by it either.

"Relax, man, I was kidding," Sam dipped his fry into his coffee, now lukewarm. "You are so touchy when you don't get any sleep."

"Alas, I am not the night owl I used to be," Jet sighed. "I'll be nineteen the end of this year, and I feel like I'm pushing forty."

"That's just the depression talking," Sam said casting a wary glance over his shoulder at the television suspended in the corner. "Or, maybe current events."

"It's probably both," Jet stuck his tongue in his coffee and drew back immediately. "I swear there's a heating blanket in this cup."

"Wouldn't that be something," Sam watched his friend lean back against the chair and close his eyes. He let the quiet wash over them, not sure how to proceed.

"So, what are your plans after you come back? Assuming you're coming back, that is," Jet asked after a moment. "Taking over your old man's company? Finishing college?"

"I'm… coming back," Sam's response didn't inspire confidence. "Finishing college? Yeah, eventually. Taking over ENCOM? I dunno. Mackey's probably running things fine, all things considered."

"If that's the case," Jet sat up, "Why do you always try to fuck up his software releases?"

"Alan says those software releases were supposed to be free updates, and he's making money off it."

"Gee, it's almost like he wants Flynn's company to make money," Jet snarked.

"It's the principal of the thing, man," Sam frowned.

"Business and principal rarely go hand-in-hand, Sam. If that was the case –" He shrugged, "A lot of people would have jobs that paid above-living wages."

"And I'm supposed to, what? Just take that as it is?"

"No, but, if you wanna change something about ENCOM, you're gonna want be proactive about what happens. Pranks don't change anything. You're lucky no one knows it's you, yet," Jet admonished. "You could actually go to jail for that."

"You mean, like you did?"

"I knew you'd bring that up," Jet grumbled.

"You got off with a community service."

"Please, _please_ , tell me you did not start doing this because I sabotaged our high school registry system."

"Okay, I won't," Sam pressed his lips together, pretending to zip a bag closed. There was a moment where Jet felt the onset of dissociation creeping up behind him, separating him from the now. In the back of his head he could recall his father prattling on about 'actions' and 'consequences', how stupid and illegal hacking a school mainframe out of pure boredom was. He remembered the acute dismissal of his own frustrations by authority figures, bullying at school, which motivated him to muck about with computer in the principal's office that would land him in trouble

When faced with a court of law, the smell of garbage as he mulled about random neighborhoods, cleaning up trash and scrubbing graffiti from brick walls and bathroom stalls until his hands were too cramped to uncurl, he was lucky he didn't go to jail. But, not once through that whole ordeal did fifteen-going-on-sixteen year old him ever consider what he did in his own rapidly deteriorating life (at the time) could influence Sam Flynn. "Well, I feel like shit," He said.

"Don't, I thought it was cool. It took them a month to sort the system out, everyone was talking about it," Sam laughed. "You're kind've a legend now."

"That's some legend. I wonder if I'll ever get a job?"

"Hey, if you don't, you can work for me."

"If it's all the same to you, Flynn, I think I'll keep my distance from ENCOM," Jet huffed. "I'm happy to hear you're interested in working there, though."

Sam reached over the table in an attempt to hit his friend. He barely caught his arm when Jet ducked out of the way. The unfinished French fries were discarded. Absentmindedly, Sam left his coffee on the table as the two of them exited the restaurant. Jet sipped gingerly on his now lukewarm coffee waiting for the caffeine to kick in full gear.

"You sure you don't wanna come a little further?" Sam, already situated on his Ducati, fiddled with the visor of his helmet.

Jet smiled. "I go any further with you, and we'll be out of California before I know it." Sam said nothing in his defense, he didn't have to. Jet didn't press the issue. A hesitant right hand rose from his side, while he considered what he would do with it, Sam grasped the open palm without hesitation, closing his fingers around it. In the moment, Jet set aside his self-consciousness and pulled the younger man into a hug that protected him from the coffee.

"Take care of yourself, kiddo," He said.

"I will," Sam let Jet step away from him as he started the engine. "And I'll be back for your graduation."

Jet nodded, albeit doubtfully. "I'll keep a look out."

"Good. I'll be there," And without another word Sam pulled out of the parking lot.

Jet watched him go, flustered, quixotic, and hopeful.

* * *

 **FIN.**


	6. Ed Dillinger Jr: November 18, 2009

**5\. Ed Dillinger Jr. – November 18, 2009**

* * *

"This suit is killing me," Eva turned away from her reflection in the surface of the elevator to regard her boyfriend.

Jethro stood behind her with his arms crossed, a frown on his face. He looked fine, all things considered. His usual unruly hair was smoothed down, offset by a clean shaven face (for once). He wore a pair of brown, thin-framed glasses instead of the usual thick black trim. Stepping forward, she pulled his arms apart and tugged at the sleeves. The suit relaxed around his arms and chest nicely, there wasn't a hint overtaxing anywhere in the seams. "What's the problem? Doesn't it fit?"

"What?" It took Jet a minute to catch on to what she meant. By the time her hands were tugging at back end of the dinner jacket, he reached behind him and freed her hands from the fabric. "No, yeah, the suit fits fine –"

"It should, I paid enough for it," She squeezed his arms. "I never thought there'd be a day I wished for a skinny boyfriend."

"I just meant – suits aren't my thing," Jet clarified.

"They should be, you look nice in them," Eva grinned, placing her hands on his waist. "A veritable god among men." Jet rolled his eyes, appreciating the way her eyes wandered his body.

"I wouldn't look half as good without your advice," He shrugged, trying hard not to touch his hair. "Your dress looks nice." Eva wore flowing black strapless dress that split on the left side, exposing her pale leg. The only color that off-set it was the striking red lipstick and goldilocks blonde she dyed her ginger hair.

He was already missing her red locks, thinking blonde washed her out just a tad much – but he wasn't about get himself in trouble. Eva twirled once, her hair fanning out around her moreso than her dress. "Thank you, lover," Jet raised an eyebrow at his nickname spoken in English. She'd had only just started calling him "lover", but it always been in French ("amant" or "amoureux", one of the two phrases), so the plainspeak was a bit jarring – maybe because of how stark and dispassionate "lover" sounded.

The elevator doors opened to reveal a warmly lit space, wide and circular, dripping in brown and gold light. Jet let out a low whistle. "Swanky," He said, earning a laugh from Eva. Hooking her arm around his, she led him toward the winding stairs, flashing smiles to those who walked past them. "Your parents never took to parties like this?"

"God, no," Jet shot her a somewhat astonished look. "I hate to tell you this, Eva, but my parents aren't Thomas and Martha Wayne. Even with the money they made at ENCOM, most of the company parties never left the building." He gestured to himself dramatically with the arm hooked around hers, prompting Eva to grab his hand. "Or dressed above their paygrade."

"Does my having money bother you?" Eva asked.

It did. After meeting his parents, Eva was adamant that he meet her mother and father. She was feeling brave after how well things went with Lora and Alan, and it was then he never really considered Eva beyond the person she was with him. He never saw her at work, he never saw her with her friends. They always met at his apartment and they were never going places where Eva knew anyone. Not unusual, right?

Eva arranged a meeting at one of their high end art galleries, Popoff Suites. Guillaume and Marion Popoff were self-made millionaires in love with post-modern art. He was rather blown away by the shift in dynamic. Eva seemed smaller, less confident in the presence of her parents, who were content to be just cordial with him. Marion, a mirror image of Eva (if not a bit more scarecrow-ish), always had her arm around her daughter, keeping her at a perpetual distance from him. Guillaume made it very clear their want to see their daughter succeed as they had. As well as marry well enough that no upheaval would leave her stranded and poor in the United States.

For lack of a better word, they were not necessarily impressed by the guy who he made video games for a living and admitted to so like he achieved something. Eva seemed determined to replicate that same 'magic' that happened with his parents. He didn't leave her hanging, doing his best to just be himself and answer their questions about his job as best he could without breaking his NDA contracts.

By the end of the night, Eva's face looked ready to break from smiling, but she wished her parents well like they didn't just call out for dating beneath her. He sat in her car, feeling like he'd gone through a shredder and was only just starting to tape himself together. They didn't like him, so he didn't like them, and suddenly he was wishing he wasn't so avoidant of his parents.

That was barely a week ago. It bothered him that she was wealthy young woman who appeared to be slumming it with a middle class boy, but, he had to keep reminding himself that Eva wasn't her parents.

"No, of course not," He lied. "But, I come from different background. I'm way better off than most people, but I feel like a fraud sometimes when we do things like this," He admitted.

Eva intertwined her fingers with his and squeezed. "You shouldn't. You're far more genuine than most people I know. Speaking of which – oh, Edward!" There was a smile on Jet's face, his stomach was twisting itself in knots. Standing across from them, Ed Dillinger Jr. stood between two men he didn't recognize but were waving Eva and himself over nonetheless. His hand in hers, Jet had little choice but to follow her over. Edward seemed to size him up over the top of his small-framed glasses. Jet returned the gesture in kind, irritated.

By their nature, Jet and Edward were reflections of their parent's actions. Edward had more of a reason to hate everyone involved in the circumstances that led his father's firing from ENCOM and subsequent arrest, Edward Sr. included. He was ten years old when it happened, Jet was barely a work-in-progress (and accident to boot, though his mother resented he considered himself so), and could hardly be held accountable for his parent's soft-anti-corporate stance against Edward Sr. and the plagiarism committed against Kevin Flynn.

Sam's reasoning for disliking or even hating Edward was more or less aligned with their parent's mistrust of the elder Dillinger. Ed Jr. was actively working alongside Richard Mackey, probably in a position his father (probably) earned for him, and undermining not only his father, but Sam's as well. Both Sam and Alan labored under the belief that Edward Jr. needed to "redeem" and "earn" his place in ENCOM for mere association with Future Control Industries, Mackey, and his own father. It was a bit stupid when Jet thought about it.

Out of everyone in his family, Jet felt the least connected to company conflict. He was angrier at his father for choosing to return to ENCOM out of some misguided loyalty to Flynn, when it was clear he was neither wanted nor respected. He couldn't begrudge Mackey for taking the opportunity to exploit Alan… not entirely, when his father put himself in that position. He had even less of a reason to dislike Edward Jr., who – much like him – was just trying to earn a living in their preferred industry.

Eva unhooked herself from Jet and embraced Edward, topping her affections off with a few well-placed air kisses that spared her lipstick of any smudge. She repeated the motion once with the man on his left – tall, broad shouldered, with fine brown hair that dreaded at the top and faded below – and shook the hand of the other on his right – shorter than Edward, bowl cut, and sported high cheekbones.

"Evan, I didn't think you'd come," Edward smiled.

"I told you I would," She said. "And, I brought my plus one."

"Ah, yes, you must be the esteemed Mr. Bradley. I'm Seth Crown," Seth extended his hand and Jet did him the kindness of shaking it. "Just call me Jet, most people do," He said, avoiding any reference to his father being the defacto 'Mr. Bradley'.

"Of course, of course," Seth withdrew his hand, returning it to his pocket like he touched something unseemly. He nodded to the man with the bowl cut. "This is my colleague, Esmond Baza. One of the brightest minds out of Delhi's tech industry," Esmond nodded to Jet but did not extend his hand for a shake. Which was fine with Jet, someone was bound to break protocol sooner or later.

"Charmed to make your acquaintance, Mr. Bradley," He said. "We've heard absolutely nothing about you."

Eva rolled her eyes, but Jet took the jab in stride. "Likewise, I guess."

"Yes, Eva has a habit of keeping her social circles separate," Seth said. "I assume you know Edward Dillinger?"

Jet focused on Edward. The man raised an eyebrow as if asking him to challenge the notion set forth by Seth. "Uh… not personally, no."

"Mr. Bradley and I know of each other, of course, but we're not what you'd call friends," Edward Jr. replied.

"I see," Seth said. "A shame."

"Indeed," Baza said. "You two seem like you'd be quite the pair."

"Well, it's like you said, different social circles," Jet said. "I'm going to get a drink. You want anything?"

"Chardonnay, if they have any," Eva said sweetly. Jet excused himself from the group and moved through the crowd of strangers. Approaching the bar, he raised two fingers to the bar tender, who was servicing another party goer. He turned his back to the bar, resting his elbows on the counter.

Faces all around burred into each other in a sea of black and white, he wasn't paying attention. He'd been feeling antsy, and sex wasn't going to scratch the restlessness that was creeping up on him, so Eva invited him out to some shindig her parents weren't able to go to, but wanted to be represented at in some capacity. The effort to look the part was exhausting, but at least he wasn't sitting at his desk staring at blank piece of sketchbook paper waiting for lightning to strike. He could think of worse things than being Eva's arm candy for one night.

"So, what is it that you do, exactly, Mr. Bradley?" Jet saw, but didn't necessarily pay attention to, Edward Jr. coming out of the crowd with a half-full glass of cinnamon colored bubbly in one hand, and his left hand in his pants pocket. It took a moment longer for the words to register in his head. Rolling his shoulders, Jet answered. "I'm a developer at Elfwood Studios. Maybe you've heard of 'em?"

"The name does sound vaguely familiar," Edward Jr. said. "I'll have two chardonnays, please. What are you having, Mr. Bradley?"

"Please, call me Jet. And, I'm not having anything. I'm the designated driver tonight."

"Of course, Jet. You were saying?"

"What was I saying?"

"About your job?"

"Um, I'm a concept artist, mostly. I design environments, sometimes, but character designs are why they hired me." In the corner of his eye he watched Edward Jr. take his once half-full flute glasses from the counter and turn to face him. "I'm a pretty good programmer too, all things considered."

"But, you prefer illustration?"

"I enjoy both for different reasons, but there's nothing quite like putting pencil to sketchbook," Jet grinned. "What about you, Mr. Dillinger? Anything in particular you enjoy about working at ENCOM?"

"Hmmm, the money's good, I make my own hours, and I supervise the software division," Edward Jr. replied. "And, please, call me Edward. Mr. Dillinger is my father, as I suspect Mr. Bradley is yours."

Jet laughed. "Yeah, I was trying to avoid that."

"It's fine. What's a little bad blood between perfect strangers?"

"Awkwardly paced conversation, apparently," Jet said. "And I'm guessing all of this is working up to why I'm not working ENCOM? Everybody asks me eventually."

"I honestly couldn't care less why you're not working for our company –"

Okay, ouch.

" –but, I suspect it's for the same reasons I'm not working – explicitly – for Future Control Industries. Our fathers asked, maybe pulled strings to get us where they wanted us."

"You're not far off," Jet couldn't help smiling. "My dad tried to get me a Level 6 position in the games division of ENCOM. I turned it down, went to work for Elfwood Studios instead."

"I'm sure they pay significantly less than what that position would've given you."

"They're an independent studio, so, you're absolutely right. But, it was something I wanted, and my father hated. So, naturally, I made a jump for it," Jet said. "And I don't regret it. Why'd you join ENCOM?"

"I interned there in 2000, applied for a job in 2003 when another option fell through. Mackey and the board were happy to have me. My father, on the other hand, would've preferred that I worked under him. Not that it matters now."

Jet felt his brow wrinkle. "Why – why doesn't it matter?"

"There you are!" Jet and Edward jumped. Eva emerged from the crowd, blonde hair framing her face like Jessica Rabbit. Edward nodded in her direction, reached over and picked up the untouched wine glass from the counter. Eva walked up to Jet and kissed him long enough to leave a red impression on his lips. Taking the glass from Edward, Eva said, "For a moment I thought you left me."

He brushed her hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. "Now, why would I do that?" The combination of words reminded him of the conversation he was having. He turned to Edward, but he was already moving away from the bar. "Um, nice talking ya, Edward," Jet called after him. Edward offered nothing but a two-fingered wave before getting lost in the crowd. Eva already had her arm wrapped around his waist, so there was no going after him.

"What were you two talking about?" She asked, pushing him away from the bar.

"Oh, y'know, the usual," He sighed dramatically.

"Daddy issues?"

"Work mostly, but, yeah, we might've mentioned our fathers," Jet said.

"Such a pair of sad boys," Eva chuckled, kneading his waist.

"Hey, do you know if there's anything going on between FCon and ENCOM?"

Eva's head moved so that her profile was hidden by her hair, but the perks of being taller your girlfriend was that she wasn't completely obscured from sight. Eva's expression was dubiously blank, her lips pouted. She was pretending to think about the question. "I might've heard something about an attempted liaison, but I don't think anything's going to come of it."

"You'd tell me if there was?"

"I don't know, what's in it for me?"

"My undying gratitude?" Eva fixed him a look. "And I'll drop the issue."

"In that case, yes, I'd tell you," Eva reassured him. "But, like I said, I don't think anything is going to happen."

"In this economy, you never know," Jet grumbled, eliciting a half-gurgled giggle from his girlfriend who'd chosen then to take a sip of her wine.

He watched with unguarded amusement as her drink dribbled down her chin and down onto her collar. He stopped them and tried to use his sleeve to dab her dry, but she grabbed his hand and repositioned it so that it was resting on her waist. "Oh, Jethro, your undying optimism is what I love about talking to you," She coughed. "You made me spill my drink."

"I can clean it up for you," He said suggestively.

She shoved him playfully. "Maybe later," Eva pulled him along. "I want you to get to know my friends."

* * *

 **FIN.**

* * *

 **Author's Note:** No, the numbering isn't an error. This is the fifth story, while the Sam Flynn entry is the sixth and "One Time" of the narrative, but chronologically this came latter so that's the order the chapters are organized.


End file.
